Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

“ W e got it,” Stitch said as soon as he and Blade stepped into the hotel room. Sloane had gone ahead in a waiting taxi. It had been crucial to get her out of there as quickly as possible.

She sat on the bed, face flushed, eyes gleaming. He had the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

“Everything went according to plan,” Blade added with a grin.

“When I didn’t see his phone on the bar, I freaked out,” she admitted, crossing her legs.

That dress.

Jesus, it was messing with his head.

The soft material shifted as she moved, briefly revealing perfect, creamy, kissable skin before she smoothed it down again.

“I saw him tuck it into his jacket pocket,” Blade said, pulling out the device. “It’s all here.” He handed it to Sloane, who held it like it was a sacred treasure.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” Stitch suggested.

Blade pulled a laptop out of his rucksack, placed it on the dresser, and powered it up. Sloane passed the device back to him, and he slid it into the USB port. They gathered around the computer and Stitch caught a whiff of her perfume—the new one she must’ve been wearing tonight. It was heady, intoxicating… just like her.

Damn that dream.

If he hadn’t kissed her, he wouldn’t know how sweet she tasted or how good it felt to hold her in his arms. It would have been easier not to know. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He tensed as her hair tumbled over her shoulder, brushing against his hand. Soft and silky. Was there no end to the torture? Breathing in, he asked, “What’s on it?”

“Almost there,” Blade replied, tapping a few keys. A folder popped open, displaying a list of phone numbers. “Here’s his call log.”

“Oh, God.” Sloane’s face went pale as she scanned the numbers.

“What?” Blade glanced over his shoulder.

“That’s Matthew’s number.” She pointed at the screen, her finger had a slight tremor. “Or at least, it’s the number he gave me. I’ve dialed it enough times to recognize it.”

“Makes sense Jeremy would be calling him,” Stitch reasoned. “He was his boss too.”

“It doesn’t prove he was involved in the drug trafficking,” Blade added. “But it does establish a connection.”

“Most of these are going to be burner phones.” Stitch nodded to the rest of the numbers. There were no contacts associated with them. No contacts in the phone at all.

Blade nodded. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t trace them. I’ll send this to Anna at HQ. She might be able to track where they were used.”

“Too bad we can’t hear the conversations,” Sloane mused.

“We’d have to plant a bug for that,” Blade said. “Wasn’t enough time.”

“On the bright side, we’ll still get his close contacts.” Stitch stepped away from Sloane, her perfume was making him lose focus. “Even if we don’t know who they are.” He was way too close to burying his face in her neck, letting his lips wander along her soft skin. Christ, he really needed to pull himself together. This was getting out of hand.

Soraya’s face flashed through his mind, but he pushed the memory aside. For once, he didn’t want to dwell on her or feel the weight of that sadness. Right now, he was with one of his team brothers and a beautiful woman. Couldn’t he just enjoy the moment? He wasn’t going to act on anything, but there was no harm in appreciating her presence and feeling a little thrill. Just being a regular guy for a change.

Blade sent the file off to Anna, then shut the laptop. “Alright, you two. I’m going to head to my room, call Lilly, and then crash. How about we meet for breakfast? Say 0800?”

“Sounds good,” Stitch agreed, thumping him on the shoulder.

Sloane smiled and said goodnight.

Stitch knew his buddy was giving them breathing space. The chemistry between him and Sloane was too tense to ignore, and Blade was no fool. Stitch had caught his quick glance at the double bed before leaving, but he hadn’t commented on it. It was too soon for jokes about him and Sloane.

Now that Blade had left, an awkward silence fell over the room.

“Um, I guess I’ll go take a shower,” Sloane said, straightening up.

Stitch sighed. They needed to clear the air before it self-combusted around them.

“Listen, about last night.” He blurted out the words before he could stop himself. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

She gave him a cautious look.

He decided to lighten the mood. In the Navy, humor was often the best way to cope with tough situations. “But if it does, you have my permission to slap me.”

He got a weak smile in response.

“I’m serious,” he added with a grin. “If I cross a line, wake me up. Kick me in the shins if you have to.”

“Okay.” Her shoulders eased and some of the pressure dissipated. “Just remember you said that. I don’t want to get wrestled to the ground because you think you’re under attack.”

Wrestling her to the ground—now there was an image.

“I promise I’ll never hurt you.”

Her beautiful eyes accentuated by makeup fixed on him. They were filled with something he hadn’t noticed before.

Desire.

His pulse quickened. It wouldn’t take much. All he’d have to do was close the distance between them—a few feet at the most—take her in his arms and kiss the living daylights out of her. He’d peel off that dress inch by inch and kiss his way down her beautiful body. He’d make her moan again, like she had last night.

God help him.

Fixing his gaze on the wall behind her—anything not to look at her—he said, “Go ahead.”

She brushed past him, the fabric of her dress grazing his leg as she moved. Once she was safely in the bathroom, he took off his shirt and tossed it onto the bed. Then he kicked off his shoes. At least they’d cleared the air. He could always sleep on the floor if things got weird, but after last night, he doubted she’d budge from her side of the bed.

Stitch lay back, trying to shove the enticing thoughts about Sloane out of his mind.

Nope. It wasn’t damn well working.

Frustrated, he got up, grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar, and chugged it down in one go. With a superhuman effort, he turned his thoughts to the problem at hand. He was now responsible for a rookie agent with a price on her head. Both her handler and her boss wanted her dead, and the only thing standing in their way were him and Blade.

Still, she couldn’t have better protection. Nobody was getting to her through them.

Faced with the seriousness of her situation, his body cooled, and he felt more in control.

Then Sloane emerged, all flushed and pink, from the bathroom, and wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. Water glistened on her shoulders, and damp tendrils stuck to her neck. Her hair was twisted up in a messy bun.

Oh, fuck.

As she slid past him, he caught a whiff of fragrant soap and imagined what her skin must taste like. He wanted to lick those droplets right off her glistening body.

“My turn.”

He leaped off the bed like someone had stuck a hot poker up his ass and disappeared into the bathroom before she noticed the rock-hard erection straining against his pants.

Much to his dismay, the room was steamy and still smelled like her—soap mixed with her perfume. Her cocktail dress hung on a hook behind the door.

Haunting him.

Grimacing, he stripped off his jeans and boxers and glared at his hard-on.

This was her fault.

All he had to do was think about her, and he was standing at attention. On the bright side, at least he knew everything still worked. It had been over a year since he’d sprung to life with this kind of enthusiasm, so in some respects, it was a relief. In others, it was uncomfortable, humiliating, and downright disturbing.

He turned on the water and stepped under the hot jets. The steam wrapped around his body, but all he could think about was her. How she’d stood here naked only moments before.

Had she been thinking about him?

He tilted his head into the spray, letting it beat gently against his closed eyelids. Heat crept through his body, easing some of the tension. Almost unconsciously, his hand slid to his cock, and he began stroking himself. What would it feel like to be inside her? To sink into her warmth, hear her moan in pleasure?

He groaned as his cock throbbed in his hand. He shouldn’t be doing this to himself. It would only leave him frustrated, unfulfilled, even more confused. Yet he couldn’t seem to help it.

He’d built walls around himself for so long, consumed by grief, not allowing anything in but the need for revenge. But somehow, she’d broken through. She’d gotten under his skin.

Now here he was, fantasizing about her. About all the things he wanted to do to her.

He pictured her wet, gleaming body, as if she were right there in the shower with him. He’d hold her tight, claiming her mouth with his, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe.

“Jesus, Sloane,” he muttered, as his hand moved faster, gripping harder. Heat crept into his face, but it wasn’t just from the steamy water. All his focus was on the rhythm, on finding some release.

If he could just come, maybe he’d finally get her out of his system. The rush of endorphins might leave him relaxed enough to get some sleep.

Next to her.

Fuck. Who was he kidding?

The fantasy took hold. He’d kiss her breasts, feel her nipples harden against his tongue. Her neck would arch back, sighing in ecstasy. Her fingers would tangle in his hair, holding him close.

His cock jerked in his hand—he was close.

Then, he’d work his way down, nuzzling the soft curls between her legs. She’d groan and clutch at him, holding him to her. Slowly, he’d part her with his tongue and taste her.

His cock swelled painfully as the tension built. A growl escaped the back of his throat, and he braced himself against the wall with one hand as the first wave of pleasure hit him.

He’d taste her sweetness, feel her thighs tremble as she struggled to stay standing. He’d hold her up, gripping her soft, round ass, while he buried his face into her again and again.

She’d cry out his name as she came, her body quivering in his arms.

He moaned into the steaming water, his hand moving like a piston. The heat built in his groin, pooling low until it exploded out of him. Stars danced behind his eyes as he released, emptying himself.

She’d climax in soft spasms, clutching his hair and holding on for dear life.

“Sloane—” The last wave of pleasure ripped through him, leaving him drained and trembling.

Holy fuck.

He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath as he calmed down.

Goddamnit. He was still too fucking hot, so he blasted himself with cold water, neutralizing the desire still pounding through his body.

Better.

Now he could think straight again.

Stitch finished washing, ignoring the flicker of guilt tugging at the back of his mind. Better this than losing control and jumping her in the middle of the night. He didn’t want Sloane to have to fend him off, despite the permission he’d jokingly given. He didn’t want her thinking he couldn’t keep it together, because nothing could be further from the truth.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door. The room was so fogged up, he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Sloane had switched off the light but left his bedstand lamp on.

To show him the way. To say: It’s okay. Let’s try this again.

But with an unspoken reminder.

Keep your hands to yourself.

She was wrapped up in nothing but the shirt she’d worn the night before, her long legs tangled in the sheets. His cock, at least for now, was blissfully calm as he gazed at her sleeping form.

Good.

Problem solved.

He slipped into bed beside her and switched off the lamp.